Chapter Text
Izuku learnt all men weren’t created equal at age four. When the doctor stared at him and his mother blankly. Those gut-wrenching words expressed with such an uncaring, bored expression.
“Your son is quirkless.”
No that couldn’t be right. He was going to be a hero like all might. He was gonna save everyone with the bravest smile as he caused people to swell with hope. But quirkless. He… He could be a hero without a quirk, right?
“Oh Izuku, I’m so sorry!” Her arms flung over his shoulders as she buried her face into his small chest. Sobs wracking up her body, shaking her thin figure. Izuku’s own tears wordlessly slithering down his pale cheeks. He just wanted to hear he could be a hero. So why, why did she say sorry.
“You’re quirkless?!” Kacchan’s face flooded a familiar red and his face lit up in rage. Ever since his quirk he became egotistical, proud, angry. Angry, that weaklings such as himself still wished to be heroes. Because if the weaklings could be hero like Kacchan, what was Kacchan? That was his reasoning. That’s why the friendship built over since birth seemed to shatter in mere seconds.
“B-but K-k-Kacchan I can still be a he-hero.” Even to him his resolve seemed weak. Weak just like his quirkless body.
“Ha! You, quirkless and a hero! You’re useless! Weak. Weak and useless that’s no trait of a hero. You’re just a Deku. A worthless Deku!” Small sparks came from Kacchan’s hands as bought his fist closer to Izuku’s panicked face.
“Izuku! What happened?!” Izuku stood limply in the doorway to the house, his uniform singed, scratches and bruises racking my body. A nervous puff of laughter breathed from his lips.
“It’s fine momma! The kids were just playing a little rough. It’s fine though, they’re always like that with everyone.” The lie slipped so easily from his lips, that the look of uneasiness that filtered in Inko’s face left as quick as it appeared.
“Oh you silly boy, be more careful next time.” Her hand glided through his hair as she crouched down and hugged him. A caring smile crossed her face as she pulled herself to her feet. It’s fine he asked for this. He lied to her. He can’t blame her for not noticing. She turned away from him, strolling into the kitchen where she went to prepare dinner. Not noticing the small tear that trailed it’s way down his cheek.
“Go clean up then I’ll call you for dinner. How does udon sound?” A quiet ‘yes mom’ was heard as Izuku clambered the stairs, two steps at a time, which was fairly difficult with his short legs.
The shut of his door the only noise heard from the room for the rest of the night until dinner.
“Hi, this is Midoriya Inko, how can I help?” The other parents had noticed. Izuku saw the way the watched him walk alone from school with his uniform in tatters, old and new bruises colouring his milky pale skin. He was glad, but not at the same time. He was glad because they too acknowledged something was wrong. They could see his pain. But then again a shallow sadness stirred in the pit of his stomach. It was like every other time. His mother would announce her identity, and the worried voice of a parent would echo through the phone; his mother would assure them nothing was wrong, and they’d brush the problem off as soon as they heard he was quirkless. And she didn’t care. But he can’t blame her. He hadn’t told her, all he did was lie. It was his fault. She didn’t know.
“Oh thank you for your concern but he’s fine. Yeah, the boys can be a bit rough at school with their quirks. They’re learning how to control them, we can’t belittle them for a sliver of lack of control. Boys will be boys.” A light-hearted laugh was shared between the two parents . All worries gone. “He’s quirkless so it affects him a bit more, ya know. He’ll be fine as he grows, gain a tolerance.” Those lasts words had stifled venom dripping from them. He knew his mom was tired of these phone calls. The exact words memorised that it seemed like a broken record. He’ll just have to try harder, be quicker in dodging from the kids at school, from Kacchan. Learn to keep his mouth shut. Be obedient, don’t anger Kacchan. It only causes more work for mom. He just needs to be better.
As he thought back to his younger days, remembering this naïve innocence, that the world was perfect and nothing could go wrong. Until the clock of four struck and that was suddenly washed away, trickling down the cold drain. And two years later he’s standing by the stairs, hiding as he hears his mother’s tired voice as she repeats a conversation she’s repeated continuously. He’ll be better, for momma.